


Bits and Pieces

by Spinofflady



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hiccstrid - Freeform, Original Character(s), Pain/Injury, Possible Character Death, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinofflady/pseuds/Spinofflady
Summary: A series of one shots leading through the lives of our HTTYD heroes, introducing the next generations. Watch the Dragon Rider's children grow up, facing the same challenges their parents did (along with some new ones!). Experience the joy of life on Berk, and cry as life takes its tole on the people. Be prepared for love and laughter, pain and heartache, and most importantly...Dragons!Characters from my other stories will be used, specifically Cabella Haddock. Some content may not be suitable for young audiences. FLUFF WARNING!REQUESTS ARE OPEN, but I can't guarantee I will use them.





	1. Matching Set

The days following Hiccup’s becoming chief were a blur. There would normally be a ceremony in honor of the new chief, but Hiccup insisted that it be put off until the village was repaired. He seemed to jump into his work, eagerly giving out orders and working until he was about to drop. Everyone was thoroughly impressed with the new chief’s work, and encouraged him to continue.

Except for two.

The first of these two was Astrid. She quickly noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. She watched him anxiously as he rubbed his aching back and neck, and how he tiredly walked home at the end of the day, too worn out to even eat.

The other was the young chief’s mother. She was concerned as she greeted him at the door every night. He would give her a half hearted smile, and slouch up to his room, but not to sleep, mind you, to work some more. He would stay awake into the wee hours of the morning, planning for the next day: drawing plans in order to rebuild houses, and whatever else he decided to work on.

Valka had woken one morning, far earlier than the sun, and noticed a light coming from Hiccup’s room. She quietly climbed the staircase and entered, finding Hiccup still at his desk, fast asleep. Sighing, Valka removed the pencil from his fingers and turning his head to the other side so that his neck would not be so stiff. She tenderly draped a fur over his shoulders and blew out the candle.

But as much as his overworking worried her, she was almost more worried that he had not yet properly grieved the passing of his father. He had only cried the day of the tragic incident. Valka suspected he was making sure that he did not give himself time to cry, as if he thought that ignoring his sorrow would somehow ease the pain.

She knew from first hand experience that this only made matters worse, but she thought it best to let her son grieve in his own way. So she never brought up to the young man, and rather tried to make up for the time she had not been there for him.

On one occasion she had found him blankly staring at Stoick’s old chair in the living room. When she asked him if he was alright, he quietly said he was and left. She could only wonder why he seemed to avoid grieving his father, but she didn’t feel that it was her place to say anything just yet.

Valka was not the only one to realize Hiccup had not had the time to mourn. Astrid tried her hardest to give him much needed affection. He accepted it, but did not give very much in return. He was just too tired.

The young woman still wanted to have a decent conversation with her sweetheart from time to time, so she stopped by his house one evening. She passed Valka in the square, and told the older woman where she was headed. Valka agreed to see her later, and continued her shopping.

Astrid stepped in the door and called out to Hiccup, but there was no reply. Rolling her eyes, she climbed up the stairs and walked into his room.

Hiccup sat on his bed facing away from her. He hardly seemed to notice that she had entered, so Astrid made her way around the bed and sat beside him. He didn’t even glance up as she eased herself down. He was intently examining his helmet. Not his flight helmet, but his “Viking” helmet that his father gave him, the one he hadn’t worn in ages.

“What are you doing?” Astrid asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

Hiccup didn’t reply at first. “It was a matching set,” he whispered finally. “It’s half my mom’s old breastplate. His helmet was the other half.”

Astrid smiled. “That was a nice gift. You should wear it in his memory.” She squeezed his shoulders.

“I can’t.” Hiccup hung his head and sighed. “I’ll never be the chief that he was. He was a born leader. He knew how to care for his people. I- I’ll never measure up to him.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Astrid chided gently. “You will. You already have. The progress you’ve made in the village is remarkable.”

“It’s not, Astrid. Dad could have done it fifty times better. All of it. My work is pitiful. I shouldn’t be chief. Dad should.” A gruffness began to show in his voice.

“Where is this coming from?” Astrid wondered aloud. “You’ve talked badly about yourself before, but this is a little much.”

“Things shouldn’t be this way!” He growled, stiffening. “I’m not the makings of a chief! I never was!”

Astrid placed her hand on his cheek, trying to pull him toward her. “Hiccup-”

Hiccup pulled roughly out of her grasp, standing abruptly and forcefully throwing the helmet at the wall. “Why him?!” he shouted. “He didn’t deserve it! It’s not fair! Why did it have to be him?!”

Astrid was startled at his sudden outburst, and she stiffened nervously. Hiccup very rarely got aggressive, but when he did, it wasn’t a very good idea to be around him when he did.

“This is all Drago’s fault!” he snarled, turning to her with balled fists. “I swear I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!” Hiccup seized a knife off his desk and stabbed it into the wall so viciously that his hand slipped off the grip and across the blade. Hiccup drew a sharp breath through his teeth and grabbed his palm.

Astrid gasped a little and jumped to her feet, rushing over to him. “Let me see,” she said gently, tenderly taking a hold of his wrist. He jerked away from her, shuffling over to his bed. “It’s fine,” he muttered. Astrid stood for a minute, debating what she should do.

“I’m sorry,” Hiccup went on, “I shouldn’t treat you like that. It’s just-” he trailed off, staring at his profusely bleeding palm.

“It’s just what?” Astrid pried, sitting next to him again, beginning to cart her fingers through his hair.

Hiccup turned to her, tears brimming in his eyes. He drew in a shaky breath. “I miss him.” His head drooped, and tears fell slowly down to the fur below. His shoulders shuddered as the tears increased.

Astrid reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer to her. His tears were now falling in her lap, along with a few drops of blood from his hand.

“It should have been me,” Hiccup sobbed, shaking uncontrollably. “It should have been me. Why did he have to get in the way? Why did he have to die? He- he had years left to his life. Why?”

Astrid thought that it was probably best not to answer; he should have his tears. The sight of him sobbing was enough to bring her to tears, but she had loved the chief as well. She missed him too. She had always loved how Stoick would tell her that he was proud of her, or when affectionately called her his “future daughter-in-law.” At first that had been somewhat embarrassing, but she had learned to love the title.

Hiccup tried to wipe his eyes, but by now his hands were covered in blood. He chuckled through his tears at the predicament he had gotten himself in. “Astrid,” he began with a sniff, “could you pass me a handkerchief or something? I’m a mess.”

Astrid smiled and slid her hand from around his shoulders to his cheek, and placed a loving kiss on his forehead. “Sure,” she replied sweetly. She stood and fished around though the piles on paper on his desk and finally produced a small cloth. She passed it to him, and he took it gratefully, wrapping it round his injured hand.

“This has to be the dumbest injury I’ve ever managed to get.” Hiccup shook his head, and the statement earned a laugh from Astrid.

“I don’t know,” Astrid giggled as she headed for the stairs. “You’ve had some pretty stupid injuries.”

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

And she was. She quickly gathered a glass of water and some bandages, and brought them back up to Hiccup. The cloth around his hand was already soaked with blood. She gave him the water, and he thanked her before gulping down a few sips.

Astrid peeled off the bloody cloth, and set it to the side, picking up a wet rag to clean the wound. He winced and the fabric made contact with his skin. Once his skin was visible again, Astrid skillfully wrapped a bandage around his left palm.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile, moving his fingers around to adjust the bandage. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that for myself.”

“I know,” Astrid grinned. “That’s one of the main reasons I did it. Well, besides the fact that you were bleeding everywhere.”

She sat beside him and started another braid in his hair. She suddenly remembered how much he hated it, and stopped. He didn’t need to put up with more braids right now. She pulled out the braid with her fingers and fiddled with his hair.

“Feel any better now?” she asked, laying her head on his shoulder. She felt him nod. “Sometimes it really does help to cry. I know from experience.”

He glanced over at her. “Sure.”

“Oh, please. You’ve seen me cry.” Both laughed a little. Astrid put her hands on his shoulder and began to rub them, and he sighed in pleasure. “Earlier you said that you felt you could never measure up to your father.  Is that really how you feel?”

Hiccup shrugged a little. “I guess so.”

“Well, I was thinking about what you said. You didn’t want to wear your helmet because you would never be as good a chief.”

“I won’t.”

“Your father must have thought you would. Right from the time he gave you that helmet.”

Hiccup looked to her, confused. “What?”

Astrid stopped massaging him and looked him in the eyes. “If he had felt that you would never be the chief he was, he would never have given you a helmet just like his. He knew you could be just as wonderful as chief if not a better one.”

Understanding began to dawn in his eyes. Astrid went on. “When you see that helmet, Hiccup, think of what your father knew you could be, not what you think you can’t be.”

A smile lit up her boyfriend’s face. “You know what? You’re right.” With that he planted a hand on the back of her head and pulled her toward him, kissing her more vigorously than he had in a very long time. He pulled away with a smack, stood, and headed down the stairs.

Astrid sat stunned for a moment. If this was how he reacted to a pep talk, he was going to be getting quite a few more in the future. She smiled to herself as she picked up his helmet off the floor and set it gently on the desk, right where he was sure to be reminded that it was part of a matching set.

**_THE END_ **


	2. Why Not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story based on Stoick and Valka's blossoming relationship.

Valka sat on a stump, a canvass propped up in front of her. She was surrounded by wildflowers, and the late afternoon sun seemed to make their colors fluorescent. The breeze rustled through her long brown locks. She breathed in the clean smell of the meadow. Oh, how she loved Berk in the spring!

She picked up her wooden pallet, dotted with color, and scooped up some blue on her brush. She skillfully spread the paint across the canvass, using long, gentle strokes. The technique gave the sky a wispy, realistic look. She added green to the bottom half of her work, then dabbed a few flowers onto her grassy meadow.

Out here it was so quiet, so peaceful. She could escape the noisy village and avoided her overwhelming fellow Vikings. Well, not quite fellow. She was an introvert, not a Viking. She sighed heavily as she dabbed a yellow flower in the wrong place. She glanced up at the meadow, trying to find a way to fix her mistake. A little yellow bird sat on a rock, chirping his heart out. Valka mixed a few colors together until it matched the rock. She quickly added the rock and bird to her painting, and was pleasantly surprised when she could hardly tell that the mistake had happened.

“That’s nice,” someone said behind her.

Startled, Valka gasped and dropped her pallet on the ground as she whirled around. Her arm hit the easel and her painting toppled over backward. Her cheeks reddened as she realized it was only Stoick. Oh, lovely! She had just made herself look like a royal idiot. And in front of the Chief’s son, no less.

Stoick, however, looked almost as surprised as she was. “Sorry,” he apologized awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn't mean to scare you. I just saw your work, and it was nicely done, so…”

“Don't be sorry,” Valka replied, dropping to her knees to pick up her paints, which had been scattered among the flowers. “I startle too easily.”

Stoick bent to help her gather up the tiny jars.

“Oh, you don't have to-”

“I insist.” Stoick held up a hand to stop her. “I startled you. It's only fair that I help you clean up the mess I inadvertently caused.”

Valka glanced up at him, confused. Why was he acting so strangely? He was always so uptight and fierce and, well... _stoic_. He was so gentle now, as if he actually had a soft side.

Stoick passed her the small jars of paint. She took them without a word and packed them into her bag in a meticulous fashion. She picked up her painting and folded up the easel, then sat back down on the ground. Her long chocolate hair, easily reaching her knees when braided, rested on the ground beside her. Valka fished out a rag from her bag and began to rub the painting down, trying to achieve a blurry effect.

“So,” Stoick began in his deep, commanding voice. “What brings you so far out here?” He seated himself beside her.

“I’m just…painting. I like to get away from the village sometimes. The real question is, however, what are _you_ doing so far out here?”

Stoick chuckled. “Avoiding my dad.”

“Oh, dear. What did you do?”

“Nothing. I just needed some time to process. I got the “big talk” today.”

Valka glanced up at him, appalled. “I should have thought you would’ve gotten that years ago!”

The young man furrowed his eyebrows, clearly not following her. “Oh!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Not that talk. My dad just wants me to take over the village soon. I’m not sure if I’m ready. I’m not sure I even want to be.”

“Why not?” Valka asked, going back to work. “You’ll make a fine chief.”

“Thank you, but I don’t agree.”

“Why not?”

“Well…I don’t know. I just don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s getting on my nerves.”

“Oh, well! Pardon me!” Valka mocked, grinning.

“Nah,” Stoick shrugged. “I don’t pardon people who get on my nerves.”

“Pretty please?” Valka clasped her hands together and batted her eye lashes, giving him the most pitiful look she could muster.

“I suppose I could pardon you just this once,” he decided finally. “If you gave me a good reason to.”

“Why not?”

“That didn’t help your case at all.”

“Why not?”

“Still not helping.”

“Fine.” Valka grew serious. “You should pardon me because that’s what a gracious chief would do, and because I’m a lady and that’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Fair enough,” Stoick agreed. “I hereby pardon you.”

“Now was that so hard?” Valka looked at him knowingly. “You won’t have any trouble being chief, will you?” She smiled playfully.

Stoick laughed sarcastically. “I see what you did. Gave me my first chiefing lesson, huh?”

“Now you won’t have to worry about a thing.” She beamed smartly.

Stoick’s smile faded. “The chiefing part isn’t really what I’m worried about. My father wants me to marry soon.”

“What’s wrong with that? Do you have something against marriage?”

“No, no.” He swallowed thickly. “I just don’t know if I could choose a wife; one that would help me chief well. I don’t feel ready.”

“You’re twenty-two, Stoick. You should be fine. You know yourself; therefore it will be easier for you to choose a partner. After all, it’s not like you’re choosing from a surplus of strangers.”

Stoick glanced up nervously. “I was honestly thinking we could get married.”

Valka dropped her rag in shock. “What?! Why me?!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because I am not a chief’s wife. I can hardly bring myself to speak to one person naturally, let along an entire village. I can give speeches or think on my feet. I’m a complete introvert. And, I that’s not reason enough, we can’t just decide to get married! We might end up hating each other!”

“I didn’t mean now. You’re only eighteen, after all.” Stoick placed a hand on her shoulder. “Here’s why not. I like you. You’re not like the other girls. All they can think about is marriage and children and hot guys. I like you’re imagination. You a ten million times more interesting than they are. I like how to come up here to paint instead of bugging people at the great hall. I think you’re amazing, talented, and beautiful. That’s why not.”

Valka struggled for words. “I- I guess that’s a good reason.”

“Good.” Stoick smiled, appearing relieved. “I’ll speak to your father. If you’re willing, that is.”

Valka nodded, stunned. Stoick wanted to marry _her_? Even as quiet, fearful, and introverted as she was? He wanted _her_?

He smiled at her. “You should get home.” He said, encouraging her to go. “It will be dark soon.”

“I can’t,” she replied flatly.

“Why not?”

She grinned. “You’re sitting on my hair.”

At that, Stoick flushed one of the deepest shades of red she’d ever seen. He stood up quickly, and helped her up as well. He handed her the art supplies. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked sheepishly, his cheeks still flaming.

“I don’t see why not,” she said with a smile. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek and turned and ran across the meadow toward home.

 

**_AND THUS WAS THE END OF ONE STORY, AND THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER_ **


	3. The Brooch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup and Cabella are "forced" to help their mother unpack Cabella's things, but the treacherous job proves to be worth the work when an important brooch is found.
> 
> *Cabella was introduced in my book "Souls of Fire."

Hiccup and Cabella crept around the corner of a barn, desperately trying to remain unnoticed. One might have thought they were criminals, the way they nervously glanced around, but they were really just trying to avoid their mother.

Valka had proved to be quite the task master.  The three had spent the majority of the day unpacking all of Cabella and Belka's things, which they had brought from her island in large crates. Packing them was fairly easy, but unpacking? Not so much.

“There you are!”

The two froze, realizing they had been spotted.

“Come on, we still have work to do.” Valka pointed the way to the house, a hand on her hip.

The two sighed and slouched inside. Of course, it was fun exploring all the contraptions Cabella had collected over the years, but when the contraptions never ended, even Hiccup got bored.

"Alright," Valka began, noticing the annoyed looks of her children. "One more hours work out of you two and you're done."

They brightened visibly.

"What's in this batch?" Valka asked her daughter, referring to the boxes.

Cabella thought for a moment. "Trinkets, clothes, useless stuff," She said pointing to the different boxes.

"Bella, you do the clothes and see if anything still fits. If it's too big or too small we'll give it to someone else who can fit in it. Hiccup you look and see if you want any of that ‘useless stuff.’ I'll sort trinkets." Valka gave out the marching orders.

"How come I have to sort the junk?" Hiccup groaned, sounding remarkably like a whiny kid.

"One Viking's trash is another Viking's treasure. I thought you like junk." Cabella replied with every ounce of her sass.

"I do-"

"Then quite complaining." Valka added in a silencing tone.

The three set to work, digging through the boxes and stopping to rub their aching necks every five minutes. Hiccup found that some of Cabella's junk was actually quite interesting, but he certainly didn't want his mother to know that. Not after complaining as much as he did. That would just give her teasing material.

"I forgot I had this!" Cabella said excitedly, holding up a tiny dress. It was faded blue with long sleeves made from a cottony material. It would barely fit on a five year old, but it was still cute.

"Or this," She continued, holding up another one, this time green. "It's too bad I can't fit in these anymore. I forgot how adorable they were!"

Hiccup rolled his eyes. He would never understand why baby clothes were so important to women. It wasn't like they would fit in them anymore; why keep a useless outfit? Astrid was the same way. When she'd grown out of her plated skirt, she'd put it in a box and kept in on a shelf just to get covered in dust.

He'd finally managed to convince her to let him use the leather for his flight helmet, but that had taken more than a few failed attempts. Then, when she finally did give it to him, he realized it wasn't really what he wanted and ended up having to stain the leather gray. (Mainly because it turned rather red after Hiccup realized sewing tiny stitches was a lot harder than it looked and it was far too easy to poke yourself with the needle.)

"What's this?" Valka asked, holding up a small wooden box.

Cabella laughed. "That would be my first whittling project. As you can see, I wasn't all that great with a knife." She ran her hand over the rough edges and uneven sides.

"Cabella, where did you get this?"  Valka asked suddenly, in an almost wonder filled voice. Hiccup didn't hear that tone very often; in fact he'd only heard once, to be exact, and that had been when his mother had met him for the first time in seventeen years. He figured whatever it was she was referring to must have been interesting, so he turned to see what it was.

His mother was holding up a small brooch, with an intricately designed metal back with a blue gem in the middle.

"It's beautiful," Valka commented, almost to encourage her daughter on.

"I didn't steal it."

Hiccup and Valka were slightly surprised at Cabella's answer.

"I never said you did." Valka replied quickly, confused.

"I know, but the story that goes with it is kind of hard to believe."

"We'll believe you."

"Okay..."

_Lise crept slowly toward the great room in which the chiefs were meeting. She stole another glance at Drago's ship in the harbor, wondering what the man was planning. She gestured to Comet, who followed silently. The six year old had followed Drago Bludvist on her dragon, mainly out of curiosity. She sneaked into the building behind a large man, motioning for Comet to wait for her._

_The dragon climbed to the top of the roof, waiting to hear her rider's call._

_Lise deftly climbed to the rafters above the Hall, where she could see and hear everything. From her space between the boards, she could see Drago entering the room. The chieftains noticed him and sat up stiffly, wondering who this man was. He was covered in scars and draped in a cloak of dragon skin. He carried no weapon, and spoke softly to the others._

_"I," he began in a hushed tone, "am Drago Bludvist. I am a man of the people. I wish to free all of mankind from the tyranny of dragons. I alone can control the dragons, and I alone can keep you safe. But there is a price. You must all bow down, and follow me."_

_The room broke into ripples of laughter. None of the men would give up their pride in such a way._

_"Then see how well you do without me!" Drago roared as he left, slamming the door behind him._

_The roof suddenly burst into flames, and from it armored dragons descended, challenging the defenseless men. A large Snafflefang snarled at Lise, but she outstretched her hand to the dragon's nose, and its face softened._

_As the girl was slipping out of the roof, she noticed one man swinging his ax at one of the dragons, and it bounced off the armor the beast wore. Lise glared at him; she hated it when someone threatened a dragon. But her anger left her as the creature ferociously knocked him to the ground. He deserved to live. She didn't know why, but something in her blood told her loud and clear "Save him."_

_"Quick!" She screamed above the noise. "Dis way!"_

_The man glanced up at her cautiously before swinging up through her hole. "Huwwy!" she encouraged, sliding down the roof. Making sure that the man was behind her, Lise dashed off into the woods. "Tomet!" she called to her dragon. "Tomet, tome hewe!"_

_The dragon bounded up, and as she caught sight of the man, she jumped in front of the little girl to protect her. The man pulled out a sword. He would not let this dragon harm the child who had just saved his life._

_"No!" Lise screamed when she saw what the man was about to do. "Don't huwt my dwadon! She's my fwiend! Don't huwt Tomet!"_

_The man lowered his weapon. Was this child calling the **dragon** her friend? Did she really feel safe around the creature? _

_"Tomet," the child rattled on, "Thit down and don't eat the nishe man yike you eated Dwado." The dragon sat, glaring ferociously at the man._

_"How did you do that?" the man asked in amazement._

_Lise giggled. "Tomet is my fwiend. She wiw do anyting fow me. She even eated Dwado’s arm off."_

_"Do your parents know you have a dragon friend?"_

_"I don't have any pawents. They getted yost a yong, yong time ado. And dey nevew tomed to find me." she hung her head sadly._

_"Well, who do you live with?"_

_"I yive wif Tomet and  Scoundwuw and Himwa and Bewta and Me!"_

_"Do you live on this island?"_

_"No. I yive next to Dwado. He's a bad man. I sink he taked my mommy and daddy away."_

_"Drago took your mommy and daddy away?"_

_"Wew, he didn't take my mommy away. My mommy died. But my daddy nevew tomed to det me. I don't sink he's even yooking fow me."_

_"Oh, I'm sure he's looking for you."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"Because I'm a daddy, and I'll never stop looking for my little girl."_

_Lise looked up at the man with her shining blue eyes. Maybe he was right. Maybe her daddy was still looking. "I should doe home now," she told him._

_"Wait," the man said quickly. "I want to give you something. As a thank-you. You saved my life, so take this, please." He handed her a small brooch, made of silver and a blue gem in the center. "It was my wife's," he continued, "but after what you did, she would've wanted you to have it."_

_Lise took it gently, running her small fingers over the gift. "Tank you," she whispered, before running off with her dragon._

Cabella’s story had no real meaning to Hiccup, but Valka seemed to find it more interesting. “Bella,” she began in a hushed tone, “That man that you saved—did he have a red beard?”

“Yes.”

“And green eyes?”

“I think so…”     

“Cabella, that man was your father.”

Cabella’s hand flew to her mouth in shock as she stared at her mother in disbelief. “H- he was my…dad?”

Valka nodded. “This brooch was mine. He gave it to me as a wedding present.”

Cabella turned and walked numbly out of the room, her steps slow and dazed. She ran run up to the cliffs to absorb the shock. She had saved her father’s life? That man whom she had meet so long ago—he was the man she had so ardently searched for! And yet… she could not quite pinpoint the emotion she now felt. There was a growing anger in her—her father had not recognized her and brought her home. There was an overwhelming sadness—all those years she had been separated from her family.

But she was glad—she had one memory of her father, and it was a good memory.

“May I join you?”

Cabella immediately recognized her mother’s voice. She turned to face her with a small smile and nodded. Valka eased herself down beside her daughter.

“I came to give this back to you,” the older woman said, passing Cabella the brooch.

“But… it’s yours,” Cabella muttered in confusion, pushing it back toward her mother.

Valka chuckled and turned Cabella’s hand over and placed the brooch in the girl’s palm. “It _was_ mine,” she replied softly, “but your father was right. I want you to have it.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, it matches your eyes.”

“That’s a stupid reason to give it to me.”

“Oh, I know that. I want you to keep it because Stoick gave it to you. I want you to have something of him.”

Cabella turned the brooch over in her palm. “It’s beautiful,” she commented.

“Aye,” Valka agreed. “It is. And so are you.”

“Mom!” Cabella groaned, blushing deeply.

“Well, it’s true!” Valka laughed. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so. I’ve caught Gustav Larson staring at you at least six times in the past week.”

“Gustav Larson is _gross._ He wears cologne made from boar saliva. He _never_ bathes. And don’t even get me started about what his feet look like! I swear there’s some form of green stuff growing on his feet! And to top all that off, he’s got head lice!”

“I only hinted that he likes you. I never once said you were required to like him back.”

“Good.”

Valka chuckled, taking the brooch back and pining it gently on her daughter’s shirt, right where it belonged. She placed an arm around Cabella, and the two remained on the cliffs to watch the sunset.

 


	4. To See Without Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid, now blind, has given up the hope of ever seeing again, until Hiccup teaches her how to see without vision.
> 
> A RTTE story based on Blindsided.

It was dark. No light. No shadows. No shapes. There was total darkness, and for the first time in her life she was scared of it.

Even as a child, she had never feared the dark, and she had been proud of that. But now…now she was terrified. Now she couldn’t just open her eyes and prove to herself that there were no monsters lingering over her. Now she couldn’t climb out of bed and close the curtains to block out the spine-chilling shadows. Now she couldn’t follow the candlelight into her parent’s room because of the frightening storm.  Now she was blind.

Astrid swallowed thickly, refusing to open her eyes and physically remind herself of the fact. She wanted desperately to open them, and to be pleasantly surprised when she was fine, but she didn’t know if she could bear to see, or not see, the hard truth again.

A strange creaking made her shiver. What was that noise? She strained her ears to listen for more. The rain drops that slid down the roof sounded like thousands of snakes hissing and slithering around. Was that footsteps in the distance? She knew there was an axe in the corner of her hut, if she ended up needing to defend herself.

It suddenly dawned on her that she had no idea whether or not she was in her hut. She was simply inside, lying on a wooden floor, exposed and unprotected. Her breathe quickened. She was so helpless. There was no way she could defend herself now…or ever again. This was it. This was her new life.

People would pity or mock her. They’d have to lead her around and feed her and help her do every little thing. She wasn’t a warrior anymore. She wasn’t agile and quick. She wasn’t strong. She could never be the Fearless Astrid Hofferson again.

And so for the first time in months, Astrid started to cry. She rolled onto her right side, curled up in a ball, and cried. Quietly, at first, but the choking sobs of despair and disappointment soon forced their way to the surface.

She was useless now. She couldn’t fight or scout or…she paused. She could still be a Dragon Rider. Stormfly would help her—they were a team. But the thought came to her that Stormfly wasn’t there; she was still out in the storm. And Hiccup and Toothless must have left when she fell asleep…

Astrid suddenly realized how completely and utterly alone she was.

Now she was truly terrified. She was alone in an unknown place, and she was blind. The thought of it made her cry all the harder. A hand suddenly touched her arm, and with a gasp she tried to scramble away.

“No, no! Astrid, it’s just me! It’s Hiccup!”

She stopped at the sound of his voice. He was still here? “Oh. I…I thought you left.” Tears were still streaming down her face, and she desperately tried to brush them away.

“And leave you all alone? No, I wouldn’t do that. I just fell asleep.”

She sighed. She should have known he would never leave. And she was beyond glad of that fact.

“Why are you crying?” he went on gently.

Astrid hesitated, taking in a deep breath to steady herself.  “It’s…just a lot to take in.” Her voice quivered near the end of the sentence, and she burst into tears again. She shouldn’t be crying. It would only make her seem weaker than she already was, but she no longer cared.

Hiccup gathered her into his arms and let her cry. He could only imagine how she felt. She was Astrid—strong, independent, self-reliant—and now she had been thrust into a world of…helplessness.

He knew that she was lucky to be alive, but Astrid probably would have preferred death over blindness. This new disability meant that her freedom was gone, and to Astrid, life was nothing without freedom.

She had buried her face in his chest and melted into him, as though trying to hide herself from the world. His body muffled her racking sobs, though his tunic was now soaked with her tears. He wished he could take this for her; at least then he wouldn’t have to watch her cry. The sight of her anguish was ripping his heart out.

Astrid usually would have calmed by then, but the combination of shock, weariness, and overwhelming disbelief caused her to continue.  Hours passed and the only words spoken were an occasional “Shh” or “it’s okay, I’m here” from Hiccup. Astrid finally quieted, and silence took over the room, each of them dosing off once or twice.

She remained in his arms for those hours, staring blankly ahead of her. Tears stains streaked through her sooty cheeks, and her sightless eyes had become fiercely red and swollen. Hiccup continued stroking her back with the palm of his hand, hoping to savor the moment as best he could. Someday he would look back at this and smile, but decided that smiling couldn’t wait, so he did it then, leaning his head down on hers.

He had to admit, he loved the way she was nestled up on his chest, he loved having his arms around her, he loved this…closeness.

Closeness was something he never had. As a child, he had never snuggled into bed with his parents. He had never fallen asleep in his father’s arms. He had never felt a mother’s soothing touch or gentle hands. He could remember being hugged goodnight only a handful of times, and kissed even less.

The only touch he had ever really known was rough and often painful, being manhandled and pushed around. His father, specifically, never meant to hurt him by said actions, but Hiccup longed for gentle contact with other people. Of course, he rarely got it (Not counting Toothless. His dragon was the only one who seemed to understand what he wanted.), since Viking’s aren’t exactly known to be gentle and loving, but that only made him want it more.

But Astrid…Astrid was different. Whether she knew how much he loved it or not, she had learned to reassure him with touch: a hand on his shoulder, a hug, or taking his hand in hers. She might never know how much that meant to him, but he would always love her for it. He hoped that the touch he was giving her now would comfort her as much as it would him.

“I’m sorry for crying on you,” she whispered suddenly.

Hiccup nearly laughed. He _certainly_ didn’t mind. “You can cry on me anytime, milady.” Silence followed, and he wondered if he should have left out the last word.

“Hiccup?” she whispered again, almost softer than before. “Where are we?”

He was an idiot. How could he have been so stupid? Here she was in a pitch black world, unknowing of her surroundings, and he didn’t have the thought to mention where they were! “We’re in the clubhouse, next to the table,” he replied finally. “In fact, I’m leaned up against it, facing the door. You’re facing the kitchen entrance.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “I thought we were in my hut. But then I got confused because I sat on something earlier, and it wasn’t my bed.”

“That was the table,” he told her, feeling guilty for not explaining her surroundings to her sooner. He would have to work on that. “Say, now that we’re both awake, why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Cleaned up?”

Now he was definitely an idiot. Of course she didn’t know she was covered in soot and smoke! “Oh,” he stuttered, feeling more idiotic by the second. “The explosion left some soot on you.”

She looked rather horrified. “Where? Why didn’t one tell me?”

“All over. On your face, mostly.”

Her hand flew to her cheek, and she frantically felt around for the dirt. Hiccup fought the urge to chuckle, he had never seen Astrid even remotely care about the way she looked, but on those occasions she could still _see_ what she looked like. “Hold on,” he stopped her, pushing her hands down. “Let me get a towel and some water.”

He scooted out from under her, but noticed the look of dismay on her face. She obviously didn’t want to be left alone, and he didn’t blame her. “I’ll only be gone a minute,” he informed her. “Just stay with Toothless.” He called his dragon over and guided her hand to the Night Fury’s head.

True to his word, he was only gone a minute or less. Astrid insisted she could clean herself, but after several failed attempts and spilling the water, she reluctantly allowed Hiccup to help her. It hurt her pride terribly to need help with such a simple task. It hurt even more when it took her _far_ too long to change her clothes, since Hiccup obviously couldn’t help with that. But finally all evidence of the lightning incident had been removed, all except for her blindness.

They sat on the floor as the night went on, talking about what Hiccup assumed would be lighthearted topics, and for the most part they were. But finally Astrid decided to ask what she had been wondering about all evening.

“Hiccup, are my eyes…are they different?” she asked, not entirely sure how to word the question.

He was quiet for a minute. “No,” he said finally. “Not really. They’re still blue, there’s just more blue now, because the pupils are smaller.”

“Oh, good. I was worried they were…I don’t know. Something worse.” She breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“Astrid, you’re eyes…” Hiccup trailed off, even though he had started the sentence with determination.

“My eyes are what?”

He drew in a long breath. “They’re beautiful. They are so…deep, now. I feel they could see right through me.”

“Well, right now they aren’t seeing anything,” she mumbled, not noticing that he had called her eyes beautiful.  “I want to see again.” She added wistfully.

Hiccup covered her hand with his. “You will. I promise.”

She hung her head, wishing with all her heart that she could believe him.

“But in the mean time,” he went on, “There are still other ways to see.”

Confused, she allowed him to stand her up, and followed as he lead her a few steps away. “So, other than being in the Clubhouse, do you have any idea where you are?” he asked.

“Not anymore,” Astrid muttered somewhat angrily. “Thanks to you.”

“Good!” he announced, letting go of her hand.

“Where are you going?” she asked urgently, turning and feeling frantically for him.

“Not far,” he replied, and sounding much further away. “Okay, your job is to find Toothless.”

“But I don’t know where I am!”

“Then you’ll have to figure that out too.”

“But I can’t see anything!”

“You don’t need to.” A door suddenly slammed.

“Hiccup, are you still there? Astrid called worriedly into the darkness.

“Yep. I won’t leave, promise. Which direction did you hear the door from?” He was clearly serious about this whole “seeing without sight” thing.

“The right?” she asked with a sigh.

“I don’t know, was it to your right?” the hint of teasing in his voice only bothered her further.

“Yes, it was my right. There is a door to my right. And it didn’t creak, so it has to be the side door.”

“Good!” Hiccup exclaimed, now in a different part of the room. “So if the side door is too your right, what is in front of you?”

“A wall,” she shot back unenthusiastically.

“Yes, a wall would be correct,” he muttered with exasperation. “What else?”

She sighed again. He was only trying to help; she should at least try to work with him. But this would never work. After all, she’d only been blind for a few hours, and she had the rest of her life to figure the whole thing out. Not the most exciting way to spend the future… “The table is to my left…no, my right…” she huffed. “Which side of the table am I on?”

“That’s for you to figure out. And you can move around, Astrid. I’m not going to let you walk into anything.”

Astrid took a few experimental steps forward, her arms raised in front of her to prevent crashing into anything. He foot suddenly bumped something, and she bent to feel it…raised wooden sides…a box…and it had clattered when she bumped it. “This is the Maces and Talons game,” she realized aloud.

“Good!”

“Which means this must be near the corner…” she ran her hands down the wall, and eventually felt it and another intersect. “And there’s a window about halfway down.” She walked slowly to her left, skimming the wall with her fingers until she reached the window. “And that’s across from the table.”

She cautiously walked to the right, headed for the center of the room, her outstretched hands finally touching the wood. The door, which she had been facing earlier, was in front of her, so she slowly walked around the table, suddenly feeling the dragon’s anticipating breath on her arm.

Astrid turned and clumsily placed a hand on the dragon’s head with a smile. “Found him.”

She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and she recognized it as Hiccup’s touch. “Astrid, do you realize what you just did?”

She shook her head, and then added “Well, I found Toothless if that’s what you mean.”

“You found Toothless using a single door slam for direction. One sound. That’s all it took. I know this is hard for you, but you aren’t helpless.” He smiled, but it faded when he realized that she couldn’t see it.

“But you were helping me…you aren’t always going to be-”

“Astrid, I will _always_ be there to help you. Always.”

Astrid smiled, though she stared slightly past him, her gaze unfocused. They moved around as though she was looking for something, but they never settled on him. “I wish I could see you,” she whispered sadly, hanging her head.

“You can,” Hiccup replied, and without giving himself time to think he grabbed her hands and placed them on either side of his face. Her eyes widened for a minute, until she realized what he had done. “You can still see me. You can hear me. You can feel me. Seeing is done with the heart, not the eyes.”

Her fingers slowly started to trace his face, her thumb lingering briefly over the little white scar on his chin. Her other fingers discovered a day’s worth of stubble along his jaw. She ran her fingers over his chapped lips, across his cheeks and over his nose, and noticed that his eyes were closed. She ran a hand down his left arm, took his hand in her own, and brought it to her cheek. She wanted him to see her, too.

Astrid felt his still damp hair sticking his forehead, and brushed it out of the way as he stroked her cheek. Her hands found their way down and around his neck, following it down to his chest. Each tiny piece of leather from his tunic felt like ripples of water beneath her hands.

And suddenly, she could see him. Not with her eyes, but she knew what he looked like better than ever. Details her eyes had failed to detect had not been overlooked by her fingers.

She flung herself into his chest, and coiled her arms around his as tightly as she could. He immediately returned the gesture, nosing her hair with a contented sigh. “Thank you,” she said quietly, “For teaching me how to see without sight.”

“You’re welcome, Milady.”

She knew he was smiling as he squeezed her, and suddenly her black world wasn’t quite so dark.

 


	5. Midnight Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story based on Midnight Scrum, focusing on Hiccup's relationship with his father and vise versa.

Everything hurt. _Everything._

His back, his shoulders, his chest, his legs, his arms, his toenails—everything throbbed in agony. Every muscle was burning, every bone was aching, and a large mass of pressure was pounding in the bridge of his nose.

Hiccup was curled up on his bed, deciding whether it would be worth it to roll over and give his right side a rest. The initial pain would be pure misery, but the side he had been lying on for the past hour desperately needed to be relieved. He bit his lip and shifted onto his back, and the sudden rush of pain that flooded his body told him clearly that he would be going no further.

Toothless snored peacefully from his place in the corner, proving that he was asleep. Hiccup fought the urge to be jealous of the dragon, but the idea of rest sounded like Valhalla to the exhausted young man. 

Hiccup slowly began to hear his father snoring from below him, also indulging in sleep’s luxurious comfort. Stoick had dragged him all the way back to Berk after rescuing him from Ryker and the bounty hunters, determined to “keep an eye on” his son for a few days.

Hiccup begged to go back to Dragon’s Edge—it was half the flight time, after all—but to no avail. Nothing on Thor’s earth could change Stoick’s mind once he’d made it up. It ran in the family.

Hiccup groaned, gingerly turning his head to face the other way. It wasn’t that he had to suffer alone in his room, he just preferred to. His father believed that pain was just an exercise in endurance and one should numb it with Meade.

Hiccup did _not_ drink Meade.

Well, he had once, when he first lost his leg. It was the first and last time the horrible liquid would ever touch his lips. It had numbed the pain, for certain, but it had numbed everything else, too. The hangover he’d gained was almost worse than the pain itself, and the vomiting that accompanied it was _definitely_ not worth it.

The other tactic his father might try would be ice. Ice helped, usually, but Hiccup was already shivering. It dawned on him suddenly that he might be feverish. Mala had mentioned that the darts used by the Defenders of the Wing could bring flu-like side effects, and even hallucinations, if not removed properly. He doubted the masked man from Viggo’s auction knew how to remove them, or if he’d even bothered to do so.

He coughed once, the movement jarring his bruised ribs and abdomen to the point of agony. It surprised him that Ryker’s massive fist hadn’t punched a hole right through him. Ryker’s punches made Snotlout’s feel like a massage.

And his neck, oh, his neck was the worst out of all of it! His poor throat had been yanked on and choked by a chain, grabbed and squeezed by rough hands, and parched from lack on water. The bruises that were starting to form before he went to bed were sure to be hideous by morning.

Toothless sighed from the corner, and stood up briefly to change positions. The dragon stopped as he realized his rider was still awake. With a low grumble, Toothless plodded over and nuzzled Hiccup affectionately.

“Hey bud,” Hiccup chuckled as softly as he could. He knew speaking would hurt too.

Toothless sniffed Hiccup intently, concern showing in the dragon’s intelligent eyes. He cooed, looking from Hiccup to the door. The Night Fury suddenly started toward it, climbing down the stairs.

Hiccup suddenly realized the dragon was going to get his father. Stoick would _not_ be happy if he was woken up. “Toothless, wait!” Hiccup called out softly, wincing as he tried to roll out of bed. He had to stop Toothless before-

“What do you want, you over-grown lizard!?”

Too late. Stoick’s slumber was already disturbed, so now the best thing was to pretend to be asleep. Hiccup did just that as his father’s heavy footsteps stomped toward his bedroom.

“For Thor’s sake, dragon, what is the matter with you?” Stoick growled as Toothless pushed him into Hiccup’s loft room, pointing the man in the direction of his son. Stoick glared at the beast, angry that his sleep had been interrupted when nothing was the matter.

Toothless padded back over to Hiccup and after a few snorts, he started to lick Hiccup’s chin to rouse him. The boy successfully ignored the dragon until the warm tongue reached his mouth. “Yuck! Come on, bud, that’s gross!” Much to Hiccup’s dismay, the words came out in a harsh whisper.

Stoick slowly approached the bed, wringing his hands thoughtfully. “Are you alright, son? Your dragon seems a bit anxious.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Hiccup realized what a pathetic lie it was; the words _sounded_ pained.

Stoick, however, seemed to buy it. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest…” His sentence trailed off, and his eyes settled on Hiccup’s neck. It was bruised and swollen, and the base of it was fiery red with infection, no doubt from the dart. The young man’s eyes were glazed over with pain, his cheeks flushed deeply. “Hiccup, you are not fine.” He came closer, taking a knee beside the bed to feel his son’s forehead.

“Okay, maybe I’m not, but all I need is a good night’s sleep-”

Stoick held up a hand to stop him. “I’m calling a healer. You are not well in the slightest, and could use a great deal more than a ‘good night’s sleep.’”

Hiccup stifled a cough and went on. “Dad, I don’t need a healer. I’m okay, really.”

Stoick fought the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious lie. Why couldn’t Hiccup be reasonable? It was clear that he was sick and/or in pain, he simply wouldn’t fess up to it. “Son, I know that you are not-” He stopped mid-sentence. Hiccup was only doing what he, his father, had taught him to do. Never show pain. Never admit to weakness.

The man sighed, knowing Hiccup would never admit to it anyway. Like Astrid had said: sometimes his pride was bigger than his brain. Stoick knew from experience how pain could injure pride considerably, but he had learned over the years that pride was no reason to suffer in silence.

“Be honest, son,” Stoick coaxed. “Are you in pain?”

Hiccup dropped his gaze, but made no reply.

“I want to help. Just tell me what you need.”

Hiccup’s resolve broke with a pained whimper. “Oh, everything hurts,” he groaned hoarsely. “I don’t even know what I need.” His big green eyes settled on his father, pleading for comfort.

Stoick longed to offer it, but truly didn’t know how. He had always been told to work through it, keep going, and soon the worst would be over. That was what he needed, but Hiccup…Hiccup was so different. Hiccup needed sympathy, not encouragement. He needed someone to sit with him and hold him and just make things a little easier. He needed his mother.

Valka was the best at comfort. She would have made a perfect healer, had it not been for her disliking of blood. She would stay up all night, singing and caring and comforting. Hiccup desperately needed that, and Stoick knew it was something he could never offer in replacement.

He shut his eyes for a moment, picturing his beautiful wife. Good Thor, she was the only woman on earth who could turn Stoick the Vast into a stuttering fool, while at the same time giving him the urge to conquer the world. Oh, if only she were here now! She would know what to do; she wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to alleviate the suffering, go heat up one of her corn bags…

The corn bags! Stoick jumped to his feet, starling his son and the Night Fury, who had settled into the comfortable silence. “I’ll be right back,” he told the boy as he hurried out of the room and down the creaky stairs.

Valka had used small bags filled with dried corn, heated over a fire, to ease aches and pains. He’d never admitted it to her, as he had laughed at the idea when she presented it, but they truly worked wonders. (Not to mention they made excellent foot warmers…) Did he still have them?

Stoick dug through every drawer, cupboard, and closet, frantically searching for the easily twenty year old corn bags. He finally spotted one, tucked away on one of the kitchen shelves. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, but at least it was still intact.

He clumsily picked it up, running his thick fingers over the intricate embroidery on the front—everything was a work of art to Valka. Stoick’s throat tightened as he realized he’d almost forgotten how much he missed her—her melodic laugh, angelic voice, and contagious joy.

Stoick pushed aside the nostalgia, and set the bag down next to the dying fire to heat up. He could hear an occasional cough or groan from above him, and impatience slowly began to set in—Hiccup was suffering.

Deciding that the bag had warmed enough, Stoick grabbed it and headed up the stairs. As he entered Hiccup’s room, the boy’s pleading gaze settled on him with a look of relief.

“What’s that?” he rasped quietly, staring at the bag.

“You’re mother made this. It works wonders for aching muscles and sore bruises.”

Hiccup rolled over, groaning slightly, and took the bag shakily from his father. He immediately caught sight of the embroidery on the front, and he paused to admire it. “Did mom do that too?” He asked softly, fingering the stitches, every last one placed perfectly.

“Aye,” Stoick replied gravely, wishing Hiccup would stop admiring the stitch work and use the bag. “She wanted to make it worth keeping.”

A strange look passed over his son’s flushed face, and he fingering the colorful design as gently as possible. “You never told me she liked art.”

“Ah, well, she stopped painting once we married-”

“She painted?” Hiccup finally looked up from the bag, clearly interested in what the answer might be.

“All the time,” Stoick answered, wistfully picturing her in a field of flowers, a canvass in front of her, and skillfully recreating the scene around her on it. That was one of her favorite things to do. Valka had been obsessed with painting the sky, addicted to copying nature, and in love with the freedom that she claimed painting gave her. To say that Valka painted was an understatement. She made life beautiful—all she needed was a blank canvass.

“You never told me she painted, either.” Hiccup broke into his thoughts.

“It must have slipped my mind.”

“For nineteen years?”

Stoick sighed. Even now, while he was sick and in pain, Hiccup still found it necessary to be sassy. “You had better use that while it’s still hot,” Stoick gestured to the corn pillow. “It’s no good once it cools off.”

“Oh…right.” Hiccup grunted in pain as he rolled back on his side, slipping the bag under the covers and leaning it against his sore, bruised, abdomen. He was sure the bruising was hideous, and honestly didn’t even want to know what it looked like at this point.

The heat worked miracles. Hiccup gave a contented sigh as the warm, comforting tendrils wrapped around his mid-section, easing the throbbing aches. The extra heat was suddenly too much, and his feverish body desperately longed for cooler air. Hiccup simply ignored it, knowing that the relief was far better than a comfortable temperature.

The soothing heat weighed down on his sleepy eyelids, so much so that he could no longer keep them open. He hardly even noticed as his father pulled up a chair next to his bed, and soon both father and son had drifted off to sleep.

But the rest was short lived, as Hiccup’s misery increased along with his temperature. Delirious with exhaustion and fever, the night noises and flickering candle started to play tricks with his mind, and weak as he was, he feebly tried to claw his way out from under the smothering covers.

Breathing heavily, he pushed the blankets away, disliking the feeling of being trapped under him. The littlest noises were suddenly too loud to bear, and he groaned and tried to block it out. Old wood creaking, wind blowing through the leaves of tree, snoring…why was it so loud?

His tired and confused mind tried to process everything at once, and succeeded at comprehending nothing. He forced his tired eyes to open, finding everything he could see to be blurry and unrecognizable. Were these…the walls of a ship? Was he moving? The earth seemed to be moving…rolling unevenly underneath him.

Strange images suddenly floated past his vision. Dark…shadowy…why were they so dark and the room so bright? The room was too bright, and he shut his eyes, but the figures didn’t go away. They stayed, burned into his mind, floating and swirling around like shapeless ghosts.

Words and sounds were roaring in his ears, completely incoherent. Unfamiliar voices were calling his name…Hiccup…Hiccup…Hiccup…laughter, faces, eyes, leering smiles, all flashing in front of him at once.

He thrashed about wildly; causing himself more pain than he assumed was possible. It was all closing in around him, smothering him like rocks being stacked on his chest, with thousands on beady red eyes staring at him. They watched him hungrily, somehow surrounding him with growing power.

But then…there was something comforting…some distant memory, faint emotion, and without conscious thought he whimpered: “Mom!”

The commotion from the bed stirred the chief, who woke just in time to hear the cry for Valka. Slowly becoming aware of the fact that Hiccup was talking in his sleep, Stoick surveyed his child and realized his state of distress.

“Mom!” Hiccup cried again, pure pleading and desperation flooding his strained voice. He squirmed underneath the furs, as though trying to flee some invisible enemy, tears and sweat streaming down his face.

Stoick leaned forward in concern, deciding what to do. He doubted waking Hiccup was a good idea, seeing how much trouble he’d had getting to sleep in the first place. What was upsetting him so much? “Hiccup, it’s alright,” Stoick placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, which only seemed to make matters worse.

“Mama!”

Stoick pulled back, the weak, pleading, child like cry somehow piercing his heart like a dagger. Oh, Valka…how he needed her. They both needed her.

Hiccup’s head rolled to one side, the feverish boy mumbling incoherently. His hair clung to the side of his face and-

Suddenly, like switching a light on, Stoick knew what to do. He gently placed a hand on Hiccup’s cheek, brushing the hair around his son’s ear back and softly rubbing his temple. The young man quieted almost instantly, and his father fought the urge to smile.

Val had done this for Hiccup even since he was born. For as long as his mother had been with them, Hiccup had fallen asleep to the same comforting touch. Until he was four, Hiccup would seek out his father, and physically place Stoick’s large hand on his tiny cheek, begging for the comforting action.

It had been years since Hiccup had comforted in that manner, but the touch was still embedded in his memory. He was now quiet, sleeping as peacefully as when he was a baby.

Stoick smiled and continued, knowing how much Valka would have loved to see the two of them like this. About now she would have started singing, and perhaps that would have helped as well, but there was no way on earth Stoick was going to _sing._

The moment could never be perfect without Valka’s presence, but the more Stoick thought about it, the more he realized that it was wonderful just the way it was: father and son.


	6. Baby Blues, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid thinks she has an ongoing stomach bug, but Cabella is convinced it's something different.

Cabella had to admit; it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the rain had finally stopped, and Berk was completely _alive._ The only downside was that she had nothing to do. Her mom was watching Eric and Ariessa for the day, her brother was busy doing Thor knows what, and she couldn’t find Astrid anywhere.

Her husband was, as usual, busy helping Hiccup. Those two could work for hours, as if they actually enjoyed it. Heather was probably taking care of her little ones, and Cabella knew that would keep her occupied for the day. Perhaps she should offer to help. It would at least make her day more interesting.

Comet, her dragon and lifelong friend, nosed her from behind, rolling an “r” off her tongue. **_I’m hungry,_** the dragon whined impatiently.

“So go find some scrap metal,” Cabella shrugged. “Gobber has plenty.”

Comet snorted and walked off. That dragon had an attitude matched only by Cabella herself. Comet was one of a kind, and for that, Cabella was glad. She wouldn’t be able to stand more than one Comet. The dragon was a mix of two species; an incredibly rare occurrence. Her mother had been a Death Breather, probably the most deadly dragon Cabella knew of, and her father a Night Fury.

Comet, therefore, was an extraordinary dragon. Two of the fastest, fiercest, altogether deadly species combined only made the offspring all the more lethal.

But Cabella and Comet had been friends since they were very young, and because of that, Cabella had a connection with the dragons that others could only dream about. She could _talk_ to them. She could understand their means of communication and could learned to communicate back.

To outsiders, that seemed like a dream come true. Cabella would tell anyone who asked that it wasn’t. Dragons were sassy, rude, and sometimes straight up annoying. Not to mention that they had _no_ filter on what they said. It didn’t take Cabella long to discover that the dragons had their own list of profanity.

But now that Comet was probably off eating some unfortunate Viking’s helmet, Cabella was still left with nothing to do, and she was one of those people who just _need_ something to do.

She walked up the back side of the stables, and paused to listen to a strange gagging noise. She immediately recognized it as the sound of someone vomiting, and as her healer’s instinct took over, she rushed to see if the person was alright. She rounded the corner, not surprised to find Astrid there, having just heaved up the contents of her stomach onto the ground.  

“Are you feeling okay?” She asked her sister-in-law.

Astrid looked up, surprised. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. I must have just eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”

Cabella quirked an eyebrow. “Really. I’m almost positive people who are fine don’t puke every other day for a week.”

Astrid rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip. “Really, Bella. I’m fine. Maybe I have some stomach bug. It’ll be gone soon.” She seemed to want the conversation to end, but Cabella was exceptionally good at not ending conversations.

“Well, that all depends on how you define soon,” she said, tossing her head to keep her overgrown golden bangs out of her face.

“What is that supposed to mean,” Astrid sighed, shifting to one hip.

“Judging by the last two few times, this will probably go on for about three months or so.”

Astrid was genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? I haven’t had a stomach bug in years.”

Cabella raised her other eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but…” Astrid trailed off, finally catching Cabella’s drift. “I’m not pregnant.”

“You said that last time.”

“Well, this time, I’m not.”

“Astrid, I’m a midwife, I think I know pregnancy when I see it.”

“Cabella, I am a mother. I know when I’m pregnant. And I’m not.” She crossed her arms, as if signaling how irrefutable her point was.

Cabella put her hand up defensively. “Okay, okay. Whatever you say.” She almost wanted to chuckle, because despite Astrid having undergone three pregnancies,  she had only recognized one on her own. “So you get that annoying thing that comes around every month?”

Astrid scoffed. “Of course I…” Her face clouded. “Well, I guess I’m a little late, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

Cabella nodded. “Uh-huh. And there’s _no possible_ chance you could be pregnant.”

Astrid hesitated. “There’s a chance,” she admitted finally. “One really stupid badly timed chance.”

“I figured as much.” Cabella prided herself in finally having won the argument.

“We decided two was enough,” Astrid moaned. “We didn’t want any more kids.”

“I know,” Cabella shook her head in fake sympathy. “A baby really is worst thing that could happen to you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Astrid sank down against the side of the stables. “This is all Hiccup’s fault.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Cabella nodded vehemently. “It’s one hundred percent Hiccup’s fault.”

There was a pause, as Astrid wallowed in her self-pity and Cabella wondered if she was being too sarcastic. (She eventually decided she wasn’t, because you can never really be _too_ sarcastic.)

“One time,” Astrid grumbled. “Took ages with the others, but now, it takes _one stupid time._ ”

“One time is all it takes,” Cabella shrugged as she walked off, “I’ll see you in my ‘office’ in a few weeks?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Astrid huffed, standing. The sudden motion brought on another bought of nausea, and the remaining contents of her stomach ended up on the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you're reading? Leave me some Kudos! I love feed back, so if you want to make my day, leave a comment as well!


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